


A Hand to Hold

by sixsupportmeta



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25599007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixsupportmeta/pseuds/sixsupportmeta
Summary: Libra returns from the warfront in a haze, tending to the wounded as he contemplates his role in the war against Valm. Trapped in his own thoughts, he wrestles with his doubts about the war and failures in battle. A source of shame lingers in his periphery, but he can't quite bring himself to face it head on.
Relationships: Riviera | Libra/Tiamo | Cordelia
Kudos: 6





	A Hand to Hold

Amongst a stream of wounded soldiers and hurried clerics and priests, a tired, almost ghostly Libra slipped into the infirmary tent. His natural elegance that normally emanated from his form and face were nowhere to be found. A thin layer of dirt scattered across his face, his eyes stared aimlessly forward. Inside, he was met with the somber sight of several dozen cots laid out within this relatively small space, all occupied by soldiers that were bandaged and bruised in one manner or another. Though nearly all of the clerics on reserve were already hard at work tending to the injured, this tent still lacked healers. The small handful of them knelt, crouched, or sat on one of the few stools available as they casted what little magic they could disperse to the rows of soldiers.

Libra glanced around the room, looking for a proper cot to begin his rounds. He recognized a few familiar faces. Acquaintances on the battlefield, fellow clergymen, flowing red hair. A camp patrolman, old friends from the Plegian campaign, silver armored gloves. A sharp nose. A pegasus knight’s armor. Her wing hairpin.

His heart sunk and a swelling of pain and emotion twisted itself in him. A shuddered breath expelled itself from Libra’s lungs as he looked away from her and moved to the nearest bed at the opposite side of the tent. He knelt beside a groaning soldier and brushed the wrinkles out of his skirt. Dirt clung to his palms. In a single motion, Libra tucked loose strands of hair behind his ear and brought his hand over the soldier’s bandaged leg. The bandage on his thigh was new, but blood from what appeared to be an arrow wound had already stained the white fabric a bright red. Libra tightened the bandage slightly, being careful to only delicately lift the loose ends of the knot before giving them a firm tug. The soldier made an audible wince, drawing Libra’s attention for a split second, before they returned to their slippage in and out of consciousness. Libra sighed and closed his eyes in an effort to calm himself. He returned his hand to hover over their leg and stringently allowed magic to emanate from his fingertips. For a second, he lowered his hand just enough to brush their skin, strengthening his healing in the momentary connection, but not long enough for Libra himself to sense the actual touch. The magic flowed through the gap between hand and blood in a dim white light, just enough to fade invisibly into the stained threads.

Libra rose from his position once the wound closed sufficiently. Out of the corner of his eye, her red hair yearned for his attention. She remained in his periphery as he hung his head and shifted to the next cot down.

 _Am I strong enough for this?_ The thought crossed Libra’s mind faster than he could collect himself. Libra’s hand trembled ever so slightly as he stared down at the sweeping stroke of blood that soaked the dressing on this soldier’s torso. The color was so alive, so vibrant, yet its presence only reminded Libra how close he was, how every soldier was, to death.

“Have I… gone to be with Naga?” His voice was a mote of dust on the wind, but Libra quickly turned to the soldier’s waking eyes, startled.

“Ah not quite, you are still amongst the living.” Libra closed his eyes and offered the soldier a weak smile. “Though for now, it’s important to get as much rest as you can while I heal you.”

“Right. Yeah.” He lowered his head down onto the cot. Libra watched him for a moment, waiting for words to follow, then moved forward once more to begin healing.

“Did I see you on the battlefield? You know, earlier?” The soldier spoke with a bit more strength than before and Libra quickly retreated. “Maybe you were there with some of us falling back?”

 _I was there, in the back lines, when I saw her from a distance._ “I… was.”

“Thank you. Again, I guess.” He blindly reached out his hand to hold Libra’s, but Libra instinctually pulled away. Grasping at empty space, the soldier’s arm dropped to his side, and the two of them fell silent.

Libra waited. He stared at his patient’s body, his closed eyelids, and waited. A long pause ensued, but eventually he shifted his body forward and raised his hands back over the wounds. Every shaky breath the soldier took stretched the cloth and ragged flesh beneath it. The millimeters of air that separated them vibrated, the magic that flowed between them trembled with uneasiness. He spent the next few minutes in this position, healing from a minute distance, stewing in their mutual silence. This time, Libra couldn’t bring himself to touch down on the bandages as he rose to leave.

“May Naga grant you a swift recovery.” Libra whispered.

For as many times as he had uttered those words, in this moment, he wasn’t sure if they were the right ones. The war against Valm had to be fought, and soldiers needed to return, but the fierceness of combat that he had seen was unlike anything he had been a part of before. Joining Robin and Chrom’s ranks during the Plegian War was a new experience for Libra beyond the monastery his clergy presided over, but the Valmese forces were a whole other monster. Getting into Valm alone was a heavy toll, and with each passing battle, he felt drained of his abilities and the injuries he healed time and time again. He kept his demeanor amongst his close friends optimistic, but he could hear it the very words he spoke in his prayers. The sadness. The weariness. The weight of the war was catching up. When Lady Emmeryn fell from the heights of the Plegian Castle, Libra remembered the wave of helplessness he felt with each step he took toward her descending body.

_When Cordelia fell from the sky today, why wasn’t I there?_

A bandage around her head. Labored breaths. Bloody cuts and bruised limbs. Cordelia. Libra could see her, hear her, touch her without needing to turn around. But he had to. He couldn’t stand still and simmer in his burning shame. If these toiling and pleasant, aching and love-filled years had instilled anything in him, it was a constant movement in the forward direction. He couldn’t avert his eyes any longer.

The world moved in slow motion as Libra pulled himself up. The bunched folds in his gown increased in weight, attempting to hold him in place. The stench of sweat, blood, and dirt churned the air in the tent into a thick aura, pulling against the soles of his shoes to keep them from rising once more. Hands that dangled off cots moved in unison to obstruct the aisle leading to her, grasping at loose fabric to slow his advance. The wild grass in front of her cot sharpened itself, piercing and slashing at his bending knees.

_Cordelia._

Cordelia.

“Libra.”

Libra brought his eyes up to her’s. Cordelia’s. Her deep burgundy eyes stared as fiercely as ever back at his, if not ever so slightly unguarded. The wrap around her head pressed down on her eyebrows and imposed a stern look on her face. 

“I promised to be by your side… always.” Every word trembled out of his mouth, but Libra held onto her gaze. “And yet, I wasn’t there when you needed me most.”

The image of Cordelia tumbling from her pegasus, her body riddled with arrows, flashed in his mind. Libra, who had run to provide support to a retreating battalion, watched her fall from a hundred meters away. Libra, who chose to fall back, saw her reel back from an arrow and slide off her mount. Libra, who wasn’t by her side when she needed him most. Stutters captured his breathing, and at long last, Libra turned away.

Up close, Libra saw each one of Cordelia’s wounds. Round and round, different bandages wrapped themselves over half-stitched wounds. Red blotches of blood marked where the arrows he could still see had been. One on the side of her stomach. Two overlapping on her right shoulder. One just above her left breast. And one hidden away on her upper hip. If he dared to look, he knew more lie along her back. Each wound furthered the scorn Libra felt, the disappointment with which he looked upon himself.

“I’m--”

“You’re here now, though, aren’t you?” Her voice was strained, but the hand she extended to his cheek was clear. Her fingers were cold, like they always were. Cordelia swept her hand around his elegant features. She drew a line over his lips and crossed the bridge of his nose. She guided his eyes back toward her, pulled Libra back. “You’re here for me now, to put me back together?”

“I--” A gentle sprinkle glided over Libra’s porcelain cheek and washed down onto her fingertips. “Yes. I’m… here. Now.”

Cordelia traced a path down his face, his neck, his dirt-laden garb. His hands. Libra sensed the unmistakable stubbornness in her grasp as she interlaced her fingers with his. The worn, calloused skin was a familiar, comforting feeling to behold once more. The awkward touch of fingers when they carried crates together. Brief glances of hands at supper as they reached for the same ladle. The bloom of red cheeks when he slipped the ring on her finger. Libra remembered it all, the healing her touch gave him.

“No more of that stubborn gloom, you hear?”

“Yes, yes, let me heal you now.”

Libra inhaled deep through his nose and placed a soft hand on her body. The cloth’s texture rubbed roughly against his palm. The blood that blemished her bandage radiated a sliver of warmth. His hand rode the waves of her breaths and fell in time with its rhythm. Libra trotted across her battered body, minding every injury beneath his hand. He held her and let his hands, his touch heal.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was written for the Peculiarity zine, highlighting the work of many small Fire Emblem writers! I had such a wonderful time getting to talk with writers and reading their short stories, poems, and other writing as we worked through our drafts. You can check out everyone else's work at @fesmallwriter on Twitter!
> 
> As a last note, thank you for checking out my Libra fic! I rarely ever post my fics online, but being a part of a zine with so many other writers has given me a bit of confidence, so I might be posting more in the future. Thanks again!


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